


Blind Nil

by reisana_devlin



Series: Citrus Farmers of Thedas Presents Lemon Harvests [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot, Smut, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reisana_devlin/pseuds/reisana_devlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen has lost everything in Wicked Grace, but this time the Inquisitor is the one down on her luck and the floor of the Herald's Rest. She awakens and forces him into a double nil bid when she realizes he is down to nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Nil

"Never bet against an Antivan, Commander."

"Did I win?"

"Ambassador, could I **please** have my clothes back?"

"You'll have to win them back."

Boisterous laughter echoed far above, undercut by moments of card shuffling, the clink of coins, and the thuds of tankards smacking against the wooden roof. Elisha stirred, face imprinted against a bare, muscular leg. She smacked her lips--a desert unlike the Western Approach dotting her parched lips--and turned around. She saw boots, foot wraps, pointed oversized boots, bare feet and--

_Maker's breath._

Is he--?

Elisha gawked at tawny legs and a darker patch of hair, complete with a half-awake cock looking back at her. She shut her jaw--what would the Chantry mothers say about this?--and peered up, placing a gentle hand on one of the brawny thighs. She gasped quietly when a calloused hand and fingertips closed over her slender hand, the owner staring down at her with a half-smirk and desirous amber eyes. The hand left, its owner intent on winning back some shreds of dignity (more like pants at the least).

His polearm bobbed, stretching out a bit further. She grasped the bench, gripping between his splayed knees as she inched closer. Cullen peeked down and scooted further under the table, already embarrassed to be naked as the day the Maker guided him kicking and screaming under the twin moons of Thedas. He grimaced as he lost yet another round of Wicked Grace, with Varric and Josephine smugly taking their winnings and departing.

The Herald's Rest was still noisy, its inhabitants loud and playful and finally feeling the effects of Cabot's watered down swill. Elisha smirked as she inched closer, one hand wrapping around a thigh, as she let the tip of his spear pass over her lips. She grinned as she heard him stumble, one hand coming under the table to rest on her crown of wild curls. Taking his verbal missteps as a cue to continue with her oral torture, she eased forward and slid more of his rod into her mouth, lazily swirling her tongue against the underside of his cock.

Above the table, Cullen jerked as he felt himself being dragged into the hot, wet heat of his Inquisitor's mouth. He struggled to continue talking, refusing to leave the table before and especially now with a demanding pair of lips dragging over his length. He coughed and squirmed on the bench, the words starting to fail him. He cast his eyes down on the weathered wooden tableau, refusing to acknowledge the knowing grin of the Ben-Hassrath spy seated across from him.

"It's difficult to wrestle when the snake is engaged in a fight all on its own, eh, Commander?" the Iron Bull quipped, sipping on a tankard filled with Antivan brandy.

"Quite," Cullen replied, his voice refusing to steady itself.

"The others are sheets to the wind," the Qunari said nonchalantly. "I hope the release comes before someone else clues in to what our missing leader is doing."

With that, Bull drained his tankard and slammed it against the table, rising to find a Tevinter amatus to help slake his own lust. Sera snored gently, having planted herself face first onto her cards, sleeping soundly. Cullen glanced around surreptitiously, beseeching the Maker that no one else noticed what was happening under the table. He relaxed until he felt a hand close around his length, swirling in tandem with the bobbing of the mouth that had latched onto his rod.

He bit down hard on his lip, hoping he could stem the noises from spilling forth. Elisha's eyes danced in the low light of the tavern, face framed in shadows as she worked him closer and closer. Cullen slammed his hand on the table, scattering some coins--but not Sera's snoozing--from the pent-up frustration of trying to be silent. The Inquisitor's non-verbal answer was the hollowing of her cheeks, eliciting a low curse under his breath as he fought to maintain his breathing. One hand slipped under the table and rooted itself in her tangled hair, silent encouragement and unspoken command.

Elisha slurped, drawing him out of her mouth. She locked stormy eyes to his golden orbs as she descended on the tip, staring him down as she began a steady punishing rhythm that had him rubbing his bare ass against the wooden bench. He felt the familiar pull of his impending release build slowly, a wild fire that blazed hotter as she took him to the hilt. Budding satisfaction shimmered in her eyes as his pupils eclipsed, fine gold ring and total dark. She tipped him over, a hidden dam breaking deep down inside, draining him of willpower and seed. Cullen gasped and fell forward, arms bracing unsteadily against the table as she cleaned up the last vestiges of her stunt.

He pushed himself off the table, gazing down at her as she swiped a finger at the corners of her mouth, the tip disappearing between her lips as she smiled coyly at him. A lone hand dropped and cupped her cheek, allowing her to nuzzle his hand before he slumped forward again, defeated with not a stitch to take cover in.

Cullen stirred when his hand felt empty and shuffled back to look under the table, seeing naught but Sera's sandaled feet. He jerked up and glanced around, noting the patrons and bar staff of the Herald's Rest absorbed in the current round of drunken shouting and tipsy antics that accompanied the later hours. He slid his legs over the bench and booked it for the door, blushing a furious crimson at the hoots and hollers of his "fine assets" as he bolted into the cold Skyhold night.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: double nil is a bid type in the card game spades where you bet nil prior to seeing your hand for the new round. 
> 
> This has been another prompt filled by the Citrus Farms of Thedas Association.


End file.
